


Classy

by feverbeats



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He spent all of dinner picking at his steak and eating an apple down to its core, watching in amusement as Slughorn stared at him too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classy

  
Tom leans against the bookshelf in Slughorn's office, perfectly aware of the way his body is tilted to maximize the swish and curve of his slim hips. He spent all of dinner picking at his steak and eating an apple down to its core, watching in amusement as Slughorn stared at him too much.

He's been pulling tricks like this for two full months, and he knows he's getting close. He's always been good at precision, and according to his calculations, tonight should be the night. There's a certain look in Slughorn's eyes that tells him so.

"Tom?" Slughorn, asks, trying to maintain his jovial tone and failing. "Anything I can do for you?"

Tom cants one hip out slightly, smiling his most winning, honest smile. "Yes, Professor," he says. He can push this as far as he needs to right now, because he's had this in the bag for a _week_.

Slughorn swallows, slow and obvious. "And what would that be?"

Tom frowns as though he's thinking about it. "Well, I don't think I've been exactly subtle lately, Professor." He fights the urge to laugh. "I think maybe you know what this is about."

Flattery will get you everywhere. Slughorn arranges his face into something resembling paternal understanding. "Oh, Tom. Yes, I'm afraid so, and I'm afraid I can't allow it to go on."

Tom could drag this out longer, playing with Slughorn like a goddamn toy, but he's got a bit of homework, so he'd like to make a short night of it. Stepping away from the bookshelf, he presses himself against Slughorn, easy and deliberate.

Slughorn doesn't even start back, just puts his hands on Tom's shoulders in what could be a failed attempt to push him away. "Tom."

"I just can't stand it anymore," Tom whispers, looking up through his lashes. This comes so painfully easily, and he's not laying it on too thick, because there's no such thing with a man like this. It would be like giving him too many little gifts.

Slughorn draws a slow breath and lets it out. "Well—I—You realize I'm very fond of you, too, Tom? You're my best student, but I can't possibly—I'd be in terrible trouble if anyone ever—"

But these are just words, and Tom can combat words with one little swivel of his hips.

*

Slughorn's bedroom looks pretty much exactly how Tom imagined it would. It's full of useless but expensive knick-knacks and lots more pictures of famous or semi-famous people Slughorn has taught. The bed is sumptuous, probably not Hogwarts-issue, and covered in a deep orange comforter even though it's only early fall.

Tom falls backwards onto it easily, losing his robes and tugging off his slacks as soon as he hits the mattress. He lost the foolish sweater-vest long ago. Slughorn makes no move to join him, so Tom shrugs and unbuttons his shirt, tossing it to join his pants on the floor. He'll fold them neatly later, so they won't crease. For now, it's all about the look of the thing. He leaves his tie and briefs on, smiling up at Slughorn, who can't tear his eyes away.

Finally, Slughorn clears his throat and sits on the edge of the bed uncertainly. Good. He's not over-eager to touch Tom, which means Tom can play this his own way. He reaches into his discarded robes.

He once bought a classless black plastic dildo, but Slughorn likes beautiful things, so a week ago Tom went into London to a discreet Muggle shop and bought a glass one, artistic and lovely. It made him laugh until he couldn't breathe, but now he forces himself to look down shyly as he takes it out.

Slughorn is clearly transfixed and shows no sign of moving, so Tom continues on his own. He could flick a quick lubrication spell out of his wand, but for some reason, he's always liked doing this the Muggle way. He pulls a small tube out of his messily piled slacks and squeezes some onto his fingers. He buys the kind that warms up, because he's not in sex for discomfort, at least not that sort.

He strips off his briefs, pumping his cock a few times and making himself look away from Slughorn. He wonders if Slughorn knows which of them is really the most fascinating to watch. One, two, three more times, and then he's hard enough that he doesn't want to wait any longer.

Bracing himself with one hand on the mattress, he starts to fuck himself with the fingers of his other hand. Two fingers isn't a bad way to begin, because this isn't exactly his first time. He winces a little at the twinge of pain, biting his lip and reminding himself that he's putting on a show.

He makes himself let out a silly little gasp, and he hears Slughorn echo the sound. Wrapping his hand around the glass dildo, Tom positions himself over it and slides down gently, wincing a little at how cold it is. "_Oh_," he whispers, pretending not to stare at the way Slughorn's hands lie absolutely still beside him.

And Tom knows in that instant that Horace Slughorn has never touched a student before, only looked, and he feels a rush of victory at the horror in the other man's face.

"_Yesss_," he hisses through his teeth, realizing too late that it _is_ a hiss. He's been having that cute little problem since the first piece of his soul broke off last year, and it's bloody embarrassing.

Slughorn's look of horror changes to one of shock and fear. "Wh-what did you say, Tom?"

Tom grins wickedly and throws his head back. "Oh, _yes_, Professor. Touch me."

To his credit, Slughorn hesitates. Even more to his credit, he doesn't actually touch Tom; he just reaches forward and motions Tom to turn over before taking the dildo firmly in his hand. His other hand hovers over Tom's hip but doesn't meet his skin.

Tom shifts, getting a better angle as Slughorn fucks him with the dildo. Face-down is his favorite position, truth be told, and now he's moaning and actually meaning it. He jerks back against the dildo, which has warmed to his body heat. He finds himself hissing faintly again in pleasure, hissing things he knows ought to be words.

Then Slughorn grabs Tom's hip and Tom shouts, surprise and triumph shaking him into an orgasm.

When he's done, he collapses on the bed, breathing hard. Slughorn is already standing up and moving away across the room, but it's too late. Tom has won. He grins into the expensive blanket, finally giving in to the laughter.


End file.
